Tonight, we dream in colors
by LadyJessYU
Summary: The first color people see is the shade of their soul mate's eyes. It is there that it begins, that your whole world changes. Soul mate AU. Now series of mostly AU one-shots
1. Forget-me-not

You're a shooting star I see,  
A vision of ecstasy  
\- Rihanna, Diamonds

* * *

It is a general consensus that Athos is a broody man, he is disinterested, no zest for life whatsoever… the questions as to why that is are numerous. Why does he live in darkness? Why does he drink only to pass out? What horrors did he witness? Why does he not smile? Why does he rarely take to woman's company? Maybe he was amongst the small number of those fortunate to meet their soul mate and live in the world of colors? And maybe he was unfortunate enough to lose her? Or is it something else entirely? They all settled for whispers and guessing. No one dared to ask.

And nobody knows, nobody will ever know why he chose such life. He takes the night watch whenever he can, sleeps in the damp cold room, and hides in the darkest corner of the tavern. He keeps his eyes on the muddy floor or the gray wall not because his life is black and white but because it is not.

Ever since he lost… no, ever since he killed his wife, he hides from colors. He couldn't watch his beautiful, treacherous wife choke to death. He refused that to be the last colorful image in his life. His first was the shade of her eyes. The last had to be stunning as well. He was selfish and he was a coward. He still is. He rode away to the furthest field to watch one last sunset. They'd loved that, his soul mate and him. He watched the blue turn to orange, to fiery red and finally to midnight blue. The world seemed diminished without her. He waited till morning; the colors didn't fade. He panicked. In one fleeting, unwanted moment of hope he thought her to be alive. But the grave was there, the ground still fresh. He kneeled and wept for hours. At one point, he even contemplated gouging his eyes out…

Colors. That is his punishment, his curse - to still see the beauty around as if her ghost is bound to his, haunting him for the rest of his days. And maybe it is. Often he would feel her presence and would gravitate towards it but could never pin it down. Some nights regret would threaten to drown him, some nights he would accept it as the price for killing his soul mate.

Athos observes, he hears what others speak of him. He doesn't give a damn. Only occasionally when the colors are too vibrant he smashes the bottle against some nosy lowlife's head. Only occasionally. When somebody knocks the wine out of his hand and the spilled liquor reminds him of his brother's corpse. Or when someone gets too handsy with the dark haired girl who looks too much like her.

The springs are the hardest. He goes to the palace often, ha has to pass by far too many gardens. He has to see those little blue flowers she loved so damn much. Those little blue flowers she held in her hand the day he ended both of their lives.


	2. A Whole New World

Not everyone meets their soul mate. That is a bit of an understatement actually. More and more people nowadays are starting to believe that the colors are just a myth. Aramis is sure it is only a matter of time before the Church proclaims believing in such nonsense heresy.

True or not, people choose to find love one way or another. And Aramis, the adventurous romantic type that he is, searches for his lady in many bedchambers across Paris.

"The colors do not hide under a woman's skirt." Athos, who seems to know suspiciously a lot on the subject, would often say.

"It doesn't hurt to be thorough, brother. You never know." he would answer with a sly grin.

It is on a Good Friday that God puts him on the path he never thought he would walk. In fact, he puts _her_ in that path - in the crossfire where bullets are whizzing everywhere. It is a miracle none has hit her. To prevent the tragedy, he lungs towards the beautiful Queen, offering his body as a shield.

He is giving his everything to protect every inch of her trembling figure. It feels like the gunpowder would cover them whole. The shooting ultimately stops and only then does he dare to breathe.

He looks at the Queen, her eyes are shut and he wants nothing more than to soothe her. Causing her distress should be considered a crime. it most likely is. "Don't worry, it's fine… Look at me, look at me. It's over."

Hesitantly, her eyelids flutter open and their gazes lock.

"I've got you." Aramis says and the world changes. It starts from her eyes and spreads slowly. Such beauty he never imagined possible. It is her. At last, "I've got you."

"So you have." she confirms with a smile, letting out a tiny, nervous laugh.

"My apologies, Your Majesty…" he somehow mumbles and picks her up. The hold lingers on her waist even when she steadies her footing.

"You're hurt."

Aramis lets her fingertips brush against the cut before the voice in his head reminds him that she is the Queen. He removes her hand and even over the thick fabric of the glove he can feel the heat of her skin. It is burning just as much as his own. But all he does is stare at… at this vision in front of him and for the first time in his life he is left speechless.

Next time he sees her, he bows like one should in the presence of the Queen only his eyes not once stray from her. The bold fool that he is, he even flirts a little. The hypnotizing moment is all too short and this time it is her that remembers what their roles are.

By the time she leaves the room, the ways of this new life are perfectly clear to him. She has become the measure by which he sees the world. The sky is the color of her eyes. The peach now is the exact shade as her lips. Gold, which many crave for, is her hair in the Sun. The priceless white pearls around ladies' necks shine like her teeth. His happiness is the smile she gives him. Precious warmth is her touch. Softness - her flawless skin...

Only, no matter how they now see the world, one rule remains unchanged – she is first and foremost his Queen and he, but a lowly musketeer.


	3. Save a date

**'Cause I'm in surprisingly good mood for non-angsty stuff.**  
 **This will continue as a series of various, mostly completely AU one-shots that include all characters. Please let me know if you'd be interested in reading more.**

* * *

Four able bodied men are standing around the kitchen table, staring at the pan which contains something that once was presumably a chicken.

D'Artagnan lifts a charred piece of perhaps a wing, scrunching his face. "Tell us again how you managed to do this."

Porhos huffs. "It said 30 minutes."

"At 500 F? And without a baking sheet?"

In response, Porthos slaps the meat out of his hands. He called them to help, not to ask stupid questions.

"Why did you offer to cook anyway?" Aramis asks between the laughs.

He lungs at him, pinning him to the wall. "You told me to, you prick!" after a moment, he calms a bit and puts his friend down.

Aramis pats him on the back. "We can fix this… somehow."

"Yeah, yeah we have…" he checks and the panic returns. Hell, one hour! He starts to pace, "One hour! Alice will be here in one hour and all I have is… water."

"Calm down." Athos says flatly as he rummages through the fridge.

His friends have never seen him like this. Like a caged animal, he is walking in circles. His palms are sweaty, breath hitched. He never should have started anything with her. She's a proper little lady. And he – one step away from a complete brute.

"Gentlemen." Athos calls to their attention. He is standing behind the counter, the content of the fridge spread in front of him, "This is what we'll do. D'Art run to the nearest supermarket, I'll send you the list. Araims make the room… date worthy. Pothos do the same with yourself. That means no shirts with sports team or music band logo."

Porthos lets out a groan but agrees nonetheless.

Athos' focus is now on the vegetables. He is dicing carrots with the precision of a master chef. The boys are staring at him like he's grown a second head… which would most likely have been less surprising.

He looks up at them, utter disinterest in his eyes. "53 minutes, people."

They share a look of uncertainity before Aramis gestures vaguely at the scene. "What's… what is going on here?"

"You cook?" D'Artagnan asks.

"I can order take away?" Porthos suggests anxiously.

Another glare from Athos puts all discussion to rest and they rush to their tasks.

"I've seen some strange shit but this tops it." Porthos mumbles as he is climbing the stairs.

When he returns downstairs (clean and shaven, wearing his best jeans and the red plaid shirt) he can hardly recognize the place. The room is transformed into a dimly lit restaurant-like area. The table now with a cloth over it has food on it. Actual food. He starts grinning like a little boy, punching Athos in excitement. "You did it!"

A rare smile appears on his face. "Of course I did."

"Some smooth jazz is a click away. And baby face here brought you a tie."

Porthos starts moving away. "I'm not wearin' a tie."

"Come on." D'Artagnan is insisting, "I almost got run over twice to get here in time."

"All right." he pulls it over his head and straightens himself.

His friends watch him for couple of seconds then nod. "Yeah, you look like a nerdy IT assistant."

"Get out." he points towards the exit, "Thank you, take your tie and get out. Alice is on her way by now and I don't need you hangin' here."

"Women…" Aramis comments as they are walking out the door, "What would we do without them."


	4. The Queen Mine

**This one is a slightly different take on the final encounter between Anne and Rochefort. I've never written from a bad guy's perspective so I'd like to know what you think. And fair warning - rating goes up a bit.**

* * *

He watches her as she prays. Unaware, still, on her knees, in her private world - only herself and God. The epitome of piety, one would say.

"…pray for us sinners. Now and in the hour of our death."

"Amen." he finishes the prayer for her. Though, God would not be saving her this time. She has sinned greatly against him and France.

Only when he reaches her (taking one painfully slow step at the time) does she move. The chain clinks and she traces the sound. She is frightened, he can smell it. It mixes beautifully with her natural scent. He trembles with the desire to comfort her like he did in Spain. They were happy there, together. His fingertips touch her delicate neck, gliding down the hairline. Fragile, little bird.

"You will never touch me again, Rochefort."

She's become defiant, crushing his image of her once again. He steps behind her, joining her on the praying stool. His body is pressed firmly against her. He could take her right there, perfect ending for a royal harlot she's become. He still remembers his sweet girl thrust into a foreign land to share a life with a simpleton. Once, a long time ago, he locked a chain around her neck, a token of his love which she gave to another. This time the chain would remain with her forever, carved into her skin. He would be there for her, one last time. Who else would be strong enough to save her from transgressing further? The cold chain swoops around her neck easily. The pressure is increasing; she will start to fight back any moment now. His love, his reason to survive, his little bird… he cannot do it, not now, not yet. He wrenches the chain away. Falling to the side, she shrieks.

He wipes the tear away and sniffles. "It's all right. Everything is all right."

He watches her with concern. Her hand is pressed against the wound. He steps in to inspect it.

"Get away from me, you monster!" she screams. Her eyes dart to the door but rescue does not come. There is no one to come, he made sure.

He uses his strength to pull her hands apart and straddles her. Both hands are pinned to sides. The stabbing pain in the left eye reminds him not to make the same mistake. She is trying to move to no avail. She's stopped calling for help at least. Ever the quick learner, she is. The line on her pulsing neck is red, but no blood. "Do not worry, my Queen. It will not leave a lasting scar." to the naked eye, her beauty will remain untainted. Not that it would matter. Her pale skin will be cold soon, cold like the dungeon he's spent all those years dreaming of her. He presses his forehead against hers, so close they share the same breath.

"Please, Rochefort…"

"Don't you see… we belong together." he intertwines their fingers, "Look… look how your hands fit into mine. Our bodies-" her eyes are shut, she is not listening so he pushes harder. It is not his wish to hurt her but she must learn obedience, "Look!"

Through the eyelashes she looks, left than right. Then down. Her eyes linger to the line where his black cloth mixes with her lighter one. He can feel it, she is beginning to understand. He is afraid to disturb the stretching silence but he must be sure. "Do you see it now?"

She nods.

He lowers himself to look her in the eyes. "Yes?"

"Yes." she mouths. A smile follows, that shy hint of a smile he remembers well. It is enough, it is everything.

The joy is so overwhelming, he can hardly contain it. He finds shelter in the crook of her neck. No, he is not ashamed of his tears. He needs to be closer to her. Now that she understands. "I knew you would see it."

His tears are subduing when he hears the words as they tremble in her throat. "Show me."

Afraid that he may have imagined it, he shifts upwards.

"Show me you love me." she whispers. Determination and fear mix in every motion.

"Don't be afraid." he presses a single kiss on her jaw, "No one will interrupt." another on her tear-stained cheek, "I'll be gentle." finally, a kiss on the lips. He lets the kiss linger. It is the moment he's been waiting for ages. Together at last.

His lips trail the path down her neck to the collarbone. Her panting is making his blood boil and patience is leaving him. "Oh, my love…" his hands busying themselves over the jewel-clad fabric around her slender waist. He lifts her just enough for his fingers to find the way to release her from the constraining corset.

In her every motion, he can tell her yearning for him is just as strong. She is arching her back in anticipation for what is to come. As he is about to pull the lace on the corset, the sharp pain stabs into the back of his head and his body falls limp.

Unable to comprehend the situation, he tries to move. With the excruciatingly dizzying jump, he gets to his feet. Where is she? His vision is gradually coming into focus and he spots her in the corner, gripping the candlestick with both hands. "Why?" he bellows desperately but she doesn't answer. She is shaking, now he can see. It was all a lie. Betrayal! The burning passion is still present but moments ago it was fueled by desire now mainly by rage. He lungs towards her. A loud shot, his shoulder pops, he falls to her feet. He can hear voices, her damn Musketeers have come to rescue. Never underestimate one's devotion to this Queen… It will all end soon.


	5. A gentleman never looks

Aramis buries his head deeper in the pillow. He vows, like he does every weekend, to nail those drapes over the window. Sleeping in was never a habit of his but more than 5 hours on a Sunday would be divine. Pulling his hand from the entangled sheets, he feels the other side of the bed. It's empty but the impression left by the female form is still warm. Adele is either gone or in the bathroom. Hopefully, it is the latter and he can prolong the liaison for an hour or so. They had fun last night, the best part being that they were on the same page as to what the aim of evening was. On the campus, he is a known womanizer but not the kind who strings girls along. It is a matter of honor and principle.

He yawns and stretches as much as he can. After a couple of seconds of silence, he pushes himself of the mattress. Ignoring the sudden onset of dizziness (he is never drinking with Porthos again!) he flings for the window and pushes the drapes together. Finally, some pleasant dimness. His boxers are hanging by the nightstand and he clumsily puts them on. No sight of Adele's clothes. Shame.

He ruffles his hair and for some reason he was sure that would stop the pounding in his head. It doesn't. The bathroom seems further than ever but somehow he reaches it. He splashes cold water over his face and looks in the mirror. Horror. The hollow eyes are staring back at him and the beard seems to have grown over night. He needs a shave. No way he could pull off the tortured soul look. He grabs the toothbrush and next to the toothpaste he spots a small crucifix on a golden chain. Putting the toothbrush in his mouth he picks it up to examine it. Not the one he's seen before, especially in this household. Then over the chain, in the mirror he sees someone's in the shower cabin. Only then does he register the water running. The blurry exquisite figure must be Adele. He grins. The day just got much better.

In one swift move he slides the door open. She turns and in a moment they both freeze. The girl in front of him is certainly not Adele. The beautiful, naked, foam-covered girl. He tries not to look, he truly does. His jaw drops, she lungs for the towel, the toothbrush clinks to the floor. As she yanks the towel to cover herself, the slippery tiles betray her and she is tumbling backwards. Aramis hastily reacts, wrapping his hands around the girl, pulling her up. They remain like that, not moving, him not breathing just listening to her heart beating against the ribcage. The warm water is running down his shoulder. This time, he keeps his eyes on the wall. Only from the corner of his eye he can see her hair tied in a messy bun. It is nothing like Adele's, it is lighter, golden almost.

"Ummm… are you all right?" he asks and they shift slightly to face each other. He should have kept his gaze on the wall. She is fucking gorgeous.

She nods and gives a quick smile.

"I'm sorry for-"

"You got me so no harm done."

His lips spread in an open smile but that is it. He is staring at her, coherent thought unable to enter his mind.

The girl quirks her head and clears her throat.

The position they are in becomes clear to him and he pulls back. Reluctantly, he must confess. He gathers enough sense in him to turn away.

"You must be one of Constance's roommates."

"Aramis." he waves. He wants to smack himself. Pothos was the one awkward in front of girls.

Before she can give him her name the door flings open. Disheveled Constance is staring at the scene in front of her, eyes growing wider. "Aramis?! What are you doing here?"

She gives him no chance to explain himself. She mutters an apology to her friend and pulls him into the hallway.

"It's not how it looks."

"For God's sake, Aramis! Not again."

"No need to bring God into this. I was just giving her a hand." She smacks him and he realizes his poor choice of words. "I thought it was Adele. She slipped, I caught her and that's it. I was a perfect gentleman" he presses the hand on his heart.

"Oh how gallant of you! I knew we should have studied at her house. She lives in a bloody mansion and I bring her here so she can be gawked at. "

"You know, sometimes your words… they hurt."

"You'll live. But don't mess this up for me." she pleads, anger ebbing away, "I miss having a girl friend, the one who doesn't hang out with me only to hook up with one of you. She is new, she doesn't know you lot. Let me keep her."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"How many of my friends have you slept with?"

The number is on the tip of his tongue but he keeps it to himself. "Point taken."

"She's not your type of girl anyway."

"Yeah! Horrible looking, that one."

"I mean she's nice. A girl you fall in love with, take her to meet the parents, not… you know."

"All right." he glances at the bathroom door and sighs. "I won't talk to her without at least two witnesses present. Would that satisfy you?"

She smiles and plants a kiss on his cheek. "Yes."

It is Constance's fault, he would say later. Constance should have known better than to keep him in the same room with Anne. She really is a girl to fall in love with. She is kind, funny, poised, smart and incredibly courageous. Like in some romance novel, it takes him a couple of days to fall irrevocably in love with her. But she is engaged. To a lord or an earl or something. Constance should have lead with that one. Ultimately, it wouldn't have made any difference but it's easier to have someone else to blame. Either way, his heart gets shattered a dozen of times.


	6. My girlfriend's girl friend

When you start a relationship you soon realize that it is not only one person you date. It is their friends and family as well. D'Artagnan had thought that was the rule of marriage but once he began the serious relationship with Constance he found out how wrong he was. She is an amazing, no-nonsense kind of girl and he fell for her before he knew what hit him. She had it easy with his friends who were also his family. She took to them and put them in their place from the start. Porthos is the guy with the kindest heart. Aramis… well girls like him one way or another and the fact that he was brotherly protective of her from day one caught everyone by surprise. And Athos, he found in her a great confidante. So great in fact that she never revealed anything even when he pulled the boyfriend card.

He also had luck with her family. He met them only once but made a good impression. He even had success in bonding with her slightly withdrawn friend Marguerite. Yeah, she was all right. Constance's roommate and best friend on the other hand… not so much. Try as he might he couldn't see her as anything more than a rich, spoiled girl with a fake smile who drags his girlfriend into ridiculous schemes. In her defense she was not a snob. Her boyfriend Louis was, yet he found his company (that one time when he wanted to see how common folks live) more enjoyable. And her schemes were always for a greater cause. Athos describes their association as the most polite passive-aggressive relationship. That coming from Athos speaks volumes.

So imagine his joy when after a stupid fight with Constance he shows up a bit buzzed at her doorstep only to be greeted by Anne. She opens the door, she is wearing a pretty white dress her hair is up but make up a bit smeared. Far from her usual immaculate self. For a moment she looks like she is on the verge of tears but with a swift brush under her eyes she returns to her normal composed self. I'm afraid "Constance is out."

"Really?" jealousy sparks inside him, the stupid feeling that got him in trouble in the first place.

"She is dining with her parents."

D'Artagnan stumbles backwards hitting the wall then slides to the floor, "I'll wait then."

"Would you like to come in?"

He turns left and right, the corridor is dark and drafty. He picks himself up and walks past her.

The most comfortable couch is within his reach and he jumps on it burying his face in the cushion.

"Tea or coffee?"

"Coffee." he cranes his neck to watch her, "I can help myself."

"It's not a problem."

"You were clearly heading out."

"I wasn't." her tone is quiet, almost meek but still dismissive.

She brings him the cup of sobering liquor and sits in the armchair. She is sitting straight, does not lean back because ladies do not do that.

"You don't need to sit with me, I'm hardly a guest."

"I want to." she smiles.

And maybe it's the alcohol still running through him or the frustration over the whole stupid argument with Constance, but he doesn't have it in him to be polite. With his impulsive nature it is a wonder he lasted this long, "No, you don't. You don't like me."

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

He cocks his head and makes the impression that screams 'Seriously?!'

"I don't dislike you." she tries again.

Shaking his head in defeat he takes a sip of the coffee. The moment it reaches his throat he knows something is very wrong. She rushes to his side as he is coughing and spitting, "What is this?! It's… it's burnt."

"Coffee cannot be burnt." Anne retorts matter-of factly.

"Try it then." he shoves the cup into her hands, "You managed to break the laws of chemistry or something.

"This is exactly why we're not friends."

"Because you can't make coffee?" he teases.

"Because you are rude and thoughtless and… and loud." she springs up. I have to study.

"You always dress up for the books?"

Surprisingly, she doesn't slam the door but turns, shifting uncomfortably. "Louis canceled."

"He's an idiot. Like most men." he wishes Constance were here. She would know the right words, "I mean look at me."

At that she smiles. Well what do you know - he can get it right. "True. I'm sorry about the coffee."

"It did its job and that's what counts. I'm all sobered up."

"Will you look at that." she takes a couple of steps forward, "You can be polite."

"Honest." he clarifies, "And I am sorry too. It's…uh… Constance and I had a fight… I overreacted and she's… Aghhhh" he exhales loudly, "She's not answering…"

"She forgot her cellphone."

"Oh?" that didn't make him feel much better.

"She is not angry with you."

He snorts.

"She knows and you said it yourself that you are an idiot. But the idiot who will never act like a jealous idiot again."

"Really?" he perks up.

Anne rolls her eyes at his enthusiasm, "Direct quote. She will readily forgive you If you promise to never act like a jealous idiot again."

"Never." he jumps on the couch, stabbing pillows with his knees.

"Are you sure?"

"Never ever."

"Then you will be fine." she mimickes his grin.

"So…. What are you studying?"

"Art history for extra credit. Michelangelo for tonight."

"Hm, he's good. Never liked the nun-chucks though."

"Her expression is one of sheer confusion. Then she nods and seats back in the armchair, "I didn't like him because he was a pizza master. We weren't allowed any form of junk food. Jealousy I believe it was."

He gapes at her in awe, "You watched Ninja Turtles?"

"It's my favourite. May I tell you a secret?"

He quirks his eyebrow, "Wouldn't that make us friends?"

"I suppose it's a risk I'm willing to take. When my parents weren't home, I used to take my father's purple tie and wear it around my forehead. I would steal a rolling pin from the cook and run around the house."

"Scandalous!" D'Artagnan bursts into laughter, "But if figures you'd be Donatello. Smart guy with a purple mask."

"Actually, it is because I find bo staff the most practical weapon. Let me guess – Leonardo?"

"Who else but a ninja with katana."

"And I'm the predictable one."

"He is the best." the discussion is starting to get serious, "Admit it."

"I suppose your attention to details was low from the earliest age."

He stands up, "And I suppose there is only one way to settle this."

She stands up, matching his stance, "And what is that?"

He smirks, "You order pizza, I'll get the beers."

Three hour later Constance enters the apartment. Mixed stale scent resembling a frat party overwhelms her. The empty beer bottles and a pizza box go unnoticed once her gaze lands on the couch. Her boyfriend and her best friend asleep in front of the laptop. Were it someone other than Anne, she would have been vexed. Instead, she opens the window and shakes D'Artagnan, "Wake up."

His eyelids eventually flutter open, "What…" he rubs his eyes, "Where…" once his vision stabilizes he gets up grabbing her hands, "Constance! You're back."

"I am." she is trying to answer in between his kisses, "What happ-"

"I'm sorry. I had no right not to trust you. I will never do that again."

"Yes, all right, you idiot. I forgive you." she flings his hands down, "Now…" she throws a glance between Anne and him.

"Oh, that. You told me to try to be her friend. So we bonded."

Constance quirks her eyebrow, "Bonded?"

"Not like that, I swear." he says in a combination between a shout and a whisper, "Ask her."

"I know you two would never." she swats him playfully, "It was about bloody time you become friends. I'm curious- what do you two have in common?" from day one she knew they were alike, stubbornness being number one resemblance.

"Our mutual love for you?"

"I'm serious, D'Artagnan."

"Our mutual love of Ninja Turtles." he confesses bashfully.

She smirks, "That should explain the girly ribbon on your head, I guess."

"That." he tugs the blue ribbon off, "There was no tie."

Anne mumbles something about Shredder to the couple's amusement, "If I didn't know any better…"

* * *

 **I must admit it is very hard to resist the urge to write an Anne/D'Artagnan romantic one-shot when one of my favourite films was The man with the iron mask... Anyway, thanks for reading.**


End file.
